


Necessity

by recrudescence



Category: Firefly
Genre: Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since when did he give Jayne permission to back-talk and insult him in addition to helping him pull this disguise together?</p><p>Co-written with Nakeno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessity

**Author's Note:**

> There's...cross-dressing and shaving and sex. Yeah.

Mal looks dubious, head cocked to the side and mouth twisted, reaching up to brush the hair back from his brow. "...Kinda tight, ain't it?" He wasn't sure he should look like _this_, no matter _what_ the job entailed.

It's blue and it's _silky_ and it clings to his thighs and legs, ending just above his knees. He's smoothing at it when Jayne tells him, "That's the way it's supposed to fit," the timbre of his voice deep and rumbling.

He squirms in front of the mirror, trying to feel _comfortable_ in the fit of the material, but he's not used to his _upper_ body having tight clothes. Bottom half, yeah. Not his top half, where it feels like he can't lift his arms properly. He's smoothing a hand over his ass, and suddenly Jayne is there at his shoulder, looking at him looking at Jayne in the mirror. Eye contact through reflection-- and Jayne's wide hand goes smoothing over Mal's ass as well.

 

"Gotta keep the waist tight, else it won't look like you've got hips." Practically. Tugging cloth into place.

 

There's just _something_ about Mal in a dress. Jayne doesn't know _what_, only that it makes him hot and makes him wanna get off in any way he can manage. And, by the way Mal shifts against the hand working away the wrinkles, it might be possible to get off _with_ Mal. But he doesn't get too excited just yet, just leans in, near the nape of his neck, exhales lightly, then breathes _deep_. Thumbing at Mal's spine right there above his ass, rubbing that rounded vertebrae. "I wanna see you sit down in it."

 

They're still staring into each other's eyes in the mirror. Mal tilts his head, averts his eyes, looking down at himself and nodding. Barefooted, he moves to the bed, flopping down heavily and blinking up at Jayne. "Well, look at you-- no woman sits all slumped and lazy like that. With their legs parted. Dumbass."

Since when did he give Jayne permission to back-talk and insult him in _addition_ to helping him pull this disguise together? "Isn't there a nice ankle-length affair?" Because _then_ he wouldn't have to worry about things like crossing his legs or shaving his legs or _showing_ his legs at-rutting-_all_.

"Nah, that kinda thing ain't in fashion here," Jayne answers instantly. And Mal wonders how in the seven hells he knows _that_.

 

"Your uncanny acumen never fails to disturb me."

 

"Sounds like you've been spending too much time 'round the doc. Now sit up straight." Jayne eyes him in a way that, even more disturbingly, reminds him of his mother.

 

He sits up straight

 

Jayne just snorts, easing onto knee. "Now, if you do this..." His hands on Mal's thighs, spread and splayed. Jayne starts slowly working the dress _up_, watching the material slip-slide against his skin, eyes darting up to Mal's face. "Easier to cross your legs if you make the room like that."

 

"Jayne, I am not s_having_ that high up, _dong ma_?" Doing his best not to look _too_ taken aback by the way Jayne's...assistance is heading. "Or are you gonna tell me stockings ain't in fashion either?"

 

"I could. If you like." There's a glint in Jayne's eye that Mal is finding unsettling.

 

Not that he's keen on the idea of wearing stockings, but neverth..._what_? "_What_?"

 

"What? I'm good with a blade..." Jayne's hand is cupping the back of Mal's leg, rubbing up the calf. "Trust me."

 

"Ah..." Maybe he should just sneak into Inara's shuttle and nick some hair-removal cream. Fancy ladies have that sort of thing lying around, and he can't imagine 'Nara'd ever risk any of her assets by using something as uncouth as a razor. "You wanna _shave_ me?" he ends up blurting out instead, tugging the slippery cloth of the skirt back down his thighs.

 

Hell, he could just sashay up to Inara as he is and play it up for all he's worth, make her smile and shake her head and probably hand it right over. Only, it belatedly occurs to him, Inara's not here, which means her shuttle's not here. Off flashing her perfectly hairless legs at some well-paying tycoon. So Mal keeps looking at Jayne, hesitant and with his mouth lax and his eyebrows up, unable to do anything but stare for a few long seconds. "So... in the shower or... something?" Seems logical. Mind, he hasn't said _yes_ yet.

 

"'less you'd rather hitch up your finery and do it here." Jayne shrugs, bluff and pragmatic, which Mal finds a little unfair. "Maybe I can even do your back, too," grinning wickedly.

 

Mal swallows-- something feels very, very off in the air. He can't put his finger on it. No, no... he _can_, he just doesn't _want_ to. "I don't need my _back_ shaved." Indignantly. His head goes down, chin to chest, curling his fingers in the sky-blue, silky-slippery material and working it up a little more. Huffing. "Do you _want_ to...?" Lord, _why_?

 

"Done it before, so I'd probably do a sight better than you." Which just throws Mal for yet another gorram loop, the image of Jayne shaving _his_...

 

"Not _mine_," Jayne interrupts his thoughts abruptly, since evidently they'd been getting broadcast loud and clear over Mal's face.

 

Still, there's the sound of metal against leather-- that blade coming loose in Jayne's hand and then the tip of it pressed flat to the inside of Mal's thigh-- flashing metal against skin. _God_, that's hot; he could stand, push that knife forward and _up_, cut that fucking dress off him straight up the middle...

 

And be out a disguise. Jayne's eyes are glinting. Humored. At _him_. "Yeah, showers. Shaving dry can chafe like a bitch no matter what body part you do it to." Up off his knee, smirking, that knife brandished as he reaches down and grabs Mal's wrist, hauling him to his feet. "C'mon, then."

 

And that's how he ends up in the very definitely _locked_ showers, under the impression he's just gonna end up perched in one of the inset seats in his underwear as Jayne works away at him with a razor and a handheld showerhead. Instead, Jayne faces him two seconds after the lock turns, deftly unties the sash nipping in Mal's waist, and says, "Arms up."

 

Mal blinks, then blinks again. His arms go up, even though he doesn't tell them to. As if they have a mind of their own, doing as they please; Mal's brow furrows, but it doesn't matter, his arms having obeyed most likely from the edge of _command_ in Jayne's deep-rough voice. Mal wets his lips-- feels anticipation prickling all over his skin and anticipation for _what_, exactly?

 

The next thing he knows, the dress is hanging from a hook like a wave pulled out of the ocean and strung up for display and he's standing there practically naked with Jayne still _peering_ at him in that unsettling way. Jayne moving up _on_ him, right into his personal space, moving him back-- back and back until Mal's bumping up against the sinks and the _feel_ of those large hands on his hips like that, _squeezing_, _grabbing_ him.

 

"This a preliminary shaving...thing?" He tries to sound glib. Like he's still in control here even though he's locked in a room with Jayne, armed with nothing but a dress. This could get a little embarrassing, really. Doesn't help when those fingers dig _in_, make his eyes roll back in his head before he can catch himself, and he did _not_ sign on for this.

 

And that _look_ that passes over the captain's face, head tilting back and eyes rolling back and, yeah... _Ta ma de_. That expression looked _very_ good on Mal's features. With his fingers digging in on those hips, Jayne _lifts_ him up onto the sink counter, one hand sneaking up to rub along the inside of a thigh, his fingertips just scarcely brushing there against his crotch-- scarcely brushing, but _brushing_, able to feel the warmth of the other's cock through the underwear.

 

Toted like he's a child or a sack of flour, and for some reason it doesn't occur to Mal to complain. Jayne's still completely dressed and completely silent, and then his fingers almost _ticklishly _skim between his legs--could even be passed off as an accident, if he hadn't seen the look on Jayne's face. Mal just presses both palms to the cool countertop and spreads them a little wider. He's getting hard. From _Jayne. _Who's now wetting a washcloth under one of the sinks and moving it up one of Mal's legs, slow and warm.

 

His breathing takes on a new canter, deeper and thicker-- right up between his legs, brushing there, where he can feel the blood _rushing_ just from that barest kind of_ glance_ of fingers over boxer's material. Parting his legs open like some... _whore_, only Mal's lips are parting too. Eyes down, watching Jayne _smooth_ that damp-soapy cloth over his skin, and the hem of his boxers get darkened-- purposefully made wet, he's _sure_ of it. A silent coaxing for him to get out of his _underwear_ as well-- _dammit_.

 

"Y'look like you're wound a little tight there, captain." The words are all amiability, but the _tone_ is dark and teasing, infuriatingly _Jayne. _A bar of soap between those roughened hands, hands that start lathering the stuff _onto_ him, bracing Mal's bare foot on one of his knees to lift his leg up a bit, and _kneading_ a lot more than necessary.

Fingertips creeping higher, grazing under the damp-darkened edge of his boxers just long enough to make Mal _hiss_ in a breath before departing to pick up the razor.

 

Frustrated suddenly and wriggling-- wriggling, that is, until Jayne comes back with that glinting metal blade. Swallowing hard and going still. Toes curling into Jayne's thigh some, tense-taut. Breathing hard and subtly squirming on the counter with his skin and hair all water-beaded from the humidity as Jayne calmly and deliberately makes his legs all smooth and feminine. Weirdly arousing. And he doesn't know _why_. Probably has something to do with letting someone as big and gruff as Jayne do something this delicate and personal for him.

 

And he hasn't nicked him once--the man really does know what he's doing. Fingers up the calf, feathering-- smoothing his skin with each steady-smooth pass of the razor. His toes are digging into the khaki material on Jayne's knee as the edge of a blade gets carefully swiped down the side of his leg, and he should be _nervous_, however-- instead, he's short of breath and his palms are sticking to the counter and if he glances down, he can _see_ his erection straining against the material of his underwear and there's _no way_ Jayne can _not_ notice. But he's not saying a word, not doing a _thing_ about it-- casual, and simple, like there's nothing unusual going on whatsoever. Even with his blunt, large fingers sweeping up past a knee, soapy suds at the hem of his boxer's leg and Mal's breath exhales all shaky like a shuttle without stabilizers.

 

And Mal, feeling like someone just jetted a line of fire up his back, sits up ramrod-straight and slackjawed when Jayne sets the razor aside to rinse off his now-smooth skin with a warm-soaked washcloth and those big blunt fingers go _kneading_ up his thigh through the nubby fabric. Just sweeping the cloth up and back over every inch of skin till it's wiped clean, hefting Mal's heel a little higher until beads of water are trickling up under the leg of his already-damp-edged shorts. It's a little ticklish and a lot _odd_, but mostly it just makes him get even harder and want to _writhe_. Might as well just hope Jayne soaks his underwear completely so he'll be spared the embarrassment of having his cock_ leak_ though the cotton.

 

It's odd, but... arousing, feeling Jayne's work-rough palm slide along his leg and not feeling the tickle of hairs, nothing but _smooth_ skin. True to his word, Jayne was good with a blade. Didn't miss a spot.

 

Jayne giving his leg a little pat as if pronouncing it a job well done, then gripping the _other_ one by the ankle, setting the foot on the makeshift step of his own bent knee, and lathering up all over again. More aggressively than before, it seems, though it could just be Mal's imagination.

 

Those fingers _dig_ into muscle, and Mal's mouth goes lax, doesn't really matter, his arousal is more than evident, dampening his underwear, and Jayne is going about this like it's a job their lives depend on. Like it has to be absolutely _perfect_. And those blue eyes shift up to him through dark lashes and Mal's breath stutters in. Those hands _slide_, _gripping_ and Mal's hips roll forward, straining for some imaginary friction and Mal's head thumps back against tile. His toes curl and his foot _flexes_ against Jayne's thigh and... _Hell with this_. _Hell_. with. _this_. He's not some wilting, timid flower-- he's not _actually_ a woman. Mal bites into his bottom lip, drops his gaze down to his hired muscle and slide-pushes his foot _up_ a strong, taut thigh and allows it to... slip. Accidentally, of course. Surely that. Just an accident. _Fuck, that's **hot**_. The way he can feel Jayne's cock through the material, the shape, the heat. Mal swallows hard.

 

He can have legs like a Boros cage dancer by the time this is done, but there's no way in hell he can pass for a woman with his cock steel-hard and almost _hurting_ for lack of contact. Stretched back on the smooth surface of the counter, his heel resting between Jayne's thighs, _rubbing_ almost casually there as if he's trying to lift his leg back into place but can't quite manage it. Curve of a huge, warm hand closing slowly but firmly behind his knee, holding him in place--a few deft swipes of the razor, sending a new rush of blood straight to his cock, and his ankle's suddenly a lot more..._delicate_-looking.

 

Just those few moments, holding him there. Then _moving_ him. Jayne, surprisingly, just grips Mal's foot by the ankle and neatly places it back on his knee, stating plainly, "Ought not to do that, me holding a blade and all..." Mal struggles to _breathe_. _Please_, it's almost on the tip of his tongue, but he bites down on it, breaks it all up between his teeth and holds his breath.

 

Clean, smooth swipes; glitter-glint of that ungodly sharp razor. So natural, he can almost imagine Jayne _born_ with a knife in his hand. It seems that much a part of him-- what was Jayne when he was young? He'd never bothered to think of it before. Doesn't matter now, with Jayne wiping the sudsy stragglers, cleaning him up. A small white bottle, corked on top; it makes Mal's pulse _race_ because he believes, for a second, that what that is is-- _lotion?_ ...Lotion. White and _scented_ in Jayne's big palms and _cool_ enough to make Mal _shiver_ when it's applied, nice and easy.

 

Thumbs circling and pressing pleasantly into his insteps, taking up each foot in turn, and moving up over his shins--fingers splayed over his calves, smoothing the stuff in. Taking extra care with his knees--Jayne squeezing out some more of the stuff and rubbing it briskly between his palms--and _higher_. Oh, _Lord_. He's not supposed to be liking this as much as he is, but there's sweat on his brow that has nothing to do with the heat of the showers, and he can see damp patches on Jayne's shirt and the way his tongue sneaks out to wet his lips, and Mal _moves_\--a quick jolt of his hips that results in too-clever-for-their-own-good fingers hooking under his waistband and stripping that good-as-useless garment off. Naked. Bare-assed by the sink with newly-shaved legs and Jayne holding his underwear in his hand.

His first impulse should probably be to throw him in the hold. Thank him for his services and _run_. Say something to slice the tension and stop the train before it gets wherever it's going. It s_houldn't_ be to bring up his heels, gripping his own ankles as his toes curl over the edge of the counter, and _display_ himself for whatever filthy designs Jayne has on him.

He doesn't get to put that urge into motion, as Jayne directs Mal's legs together and with his hand wrapped firm around the bunch of damp-wrinkled underwear, he pulls it off over Mal's flexing feet. Delicate. Fragile. He feels... _feminine_ suddenly, and that wasn't the goal at _all_, was it? ..._Was it_? Jayne's petting his hand up the side of his right leg, the other kneading at the left leg's calf and Mal _wriggles_. He's _naked_ and Jayne-- byallthat'sprecious_Jayne_\-- is on his _knee_ in front of him. That big hand takes hold of his ankle, shifts it, the action causes Mal's legs to rub against each other. Jayne is looking up at him, blue-dark and _intent_, not even a _inkling_ of a smirk, "Feel that? ...Nice, eh?" Just _gliding_ together, smooth like that-- perfectly _silky_. Wonders if _Jayne_ is wondering how good and hot they would feel wrapped around his bare waist.

 

Mal just blinks, lashes damp, face reddened and chest rising and falling like he's been running for his life, eyelids heavy, brow furrowed ever so slightly. Jayne holds his gaze. _Looks_ at him. His ankles grabbed, heels of his feet settled in the notches of the muscle just under the shoulders. His head turns, stubble against the side of his foot, against his ankle as Jayne's calloused hand slides up and down the side of that leg; over and over.

 

Where in the name of all that's holy is this _coming_ from? Him getting into another scrape and needing to pass for female, that's downright _mundane_ compared to having Jayne shaving his gorram legs for him and him getting _off_ on it. He's not sure if it's the shaving part or the Jayne part that disturbs him more, but just now he can't get a word out unless it's tangled up in a whine. Jayne's hands feeling too tough and too large and too _gentle_, somehow, just skimming up and down his now _raised_\--ohholy_Christ_, this is such a twisted mess--legs and rather than try and say anything at all, Mal finds his own hand edging towards his cock. Not as if he's not much left to lose by letting Jayne watch him touch himself. Hell, he highly doubts Jayne's liable to express any discontent at all, unless it's to push Mal's hand aside and put his _own_ on him.

 

And just imagining _that_ really _does_ make him whine, an almost pained sound that unfurls slowly in the steam-shrouded room.

 

Jayne raises an eyebrow, _squeezes_ his ankles, shakes his head slowly, "Nuh-uh..." Mal's brow furrows further, he swallows and licks his lips. Can't say a _word_. Jayne _rises_, fluid and easy and strong right off the floor and the back's of Mal's thighs twinge because Jayne is _holding_ his legs up, cupped at the tender nook of the inner knee. Held up and _spread_ and Mal's hiccuping and making that _sound_ again that has Jayne releasing something like a thick sigh. "Slide..." He murmurs, staring dead at him. "Come up a little more... almost off; won't let you fall. Do it." Roughhoarse and dark. Jayne knows the effect of it, too-- can see it in those darkened blue eyes.

 

"Oh, dear God..." It's the first thing he's said since this whole improbable production got off the ground. It doesn't even sound like _he's_ the one saying it. And the thing is, he doesn't even try to argue. Just _does_ it, listening to Jayne and _trusting _that he's going to follow through. Because Jayne usually does, barring a few memorable occasions. And if Jayne tries to hold this over him later, well, he's still the captain and all that entails. He tries to summon up some of that now. "Jayne, if you don't quit acting' like you're staring at a _buffet_ and _do_ something, I'm not gonna be here all day."

 

Jayne's eyebrows shoot up-- funny how now that he's got the captain held up, bent up in his _hands_, ass not supported by the counter, that he would get to try and be _demanding_. He hoists him up, hands splayed at the back of the thighs, dark head ducking as he near _scoffs,_ "Ain't going nowhere," matter-of-fact. No way around it. Tongue out, nudging, licking the cleft then slipping _in_, wriggling-probing. Slick. Wet. _Hot_.

 

Heels bumping his shoulderblades, fingers making white divots in the skin, elbows bent, head moving back and forth with the motion of his lapping tongue, but he doesn't lose his grip. Doesn't drop him, _holds_ him up the entire time. As he said he would.

 

Ain't going nowhere. And Mal is in no position, mentally or physically, to argue. Or do anything but _yelp_, really, especially when Jayne grips his hips harder and _licks_ him. Licks damn near _into_ him. _Ta ma de_.

 

He needs to touch himself, and he doesn't see how Jayne can stop him now with both his hands full, but he's got a feeling Jayne wouldn't be above stopping this _new_ thing he's begun and, dirty and unexpected as it is, Mal finds he doesn't _want_ to lose that. The pliant-but-firm sweep of that tongue _curling _against him, making his toes clench and his neck strain off the counter. "I gotta--" _Hell_, even if he doesn't get any stimulation on his cock, he might very well wind up coming all over himself.

 

Jayne presses his tongue flat to that clenching opening, flickering it, _pushing_ the tip scarcely in then pulling back-- Mal tightens up all over, muscles jumping and quivering. Sweaty and wet and _his_. Pull back, hooking those knees over his shoulders, leaning over him that way; _looming_, and his trousers don't hide the fact that his cock is _hard_ and _pressing_, hot through the layers of cloth right there against Mal's ass. "Gotta?" Rough-voice and slightly amused. All mirth drains from Jayne's face, and he's wetting his lips, smoothing his hands over the top of Mal's legs-- silky and warm and _soft_-bare. "...How rough can you take it?" Explain himself with a firm push against Mal's hips, cloth rubbing, rustling.

_God._ He can't even _begin_ to answer that at first, not while Jayne's basically frotting up against him like that; can feel the still-clothed rub of his cock _there_, where he'd been _licking_ a second ago, like Jayne's planning to screw him without even getting unzipped somehow. _"Yesu_." Take it. _Take it_. Jayne really _is _gonna do him, right here, like this, and he's not even pretending like he wants to stop it. "_Fuck_ the questioning, just rutting _do_ it." His hands shooting up to grab Jayne's shoulders, bunching t-shirt material and _gripping_. Mouth going lax when the movement pushes him against Jayne even _more_.

 

"Hn," is all Jayne responds with. Other than reaching for that lotion bottle again. Mal's face is red and strained. Wet with sweat, hair damp with it, sticking to his brow. The hot water is still got steam lingering in the air-- all pent up with nowhere to go. Dissipating slowly. Like the calm, neutral mask Jayne had been wearing. Gone. Dropped. Clink of a belt buckle, leather pulled open, button flicked and a zipper drawn down. Jayne's shirt is sticking to his back, his arms, his chest-- pants opened just enough to pull himself out, lotion in his palm streaking his cock with white, wet smears. Left over dobs of it on his fingers _pressed_ between Mal's ass, against that entrance, one slippery finger _in_ for a few seconds of stroke-rubbing.

 

"Oh, rutting..._gnnnph._" Mal just about goes _cross-eyed_, head thunking back down, legs still hitched over Jayne's shoulders and _hurting_ from the burn of trying to lift his hips higher--get more space for that finger to work in and out. Or--_fuck_\--more than one finger to do it. It's obscenely slippery, lotion-smeared and filling him fluidly, makes his cock spurt precome and his ribcage feel too small for his lungs, but it's not _enough. Wo de ma_, and he's saying it out _loud_. "It ain't _enough_." All crunched up and pulled open and on the verge of _begging_. "Jayne...c'mon, now, I need more'n that." Fingers scrabbling uselessly at the frictionless countertop, trying to angle himself even _more_. _Now_.

 

He draws his finger back, it slips out easily, and he's grabbing Mal's naked hip. He's getting perspiration-slippery. That glisten all over that sun-brown body-- Mal's cock up against his stomach, _leaking_ and hard and rubbing ever so subtly against the other's abdomen with every heaved breath Mal takes. Not enough. Ain't _enough_, Mal makes it clear. He wants more? Gonna get more, gripping thigh, gripping the base of himself, crisp curls of hair damp with the humidity in the shower-room air. The flared head of his cock pressed _just_ there and Jayne _leans_\-- head down, eyes slitted, _watching_ as the head of himself stretches that pinkshiny clutch of muscle and disappears _past_ it. God, that's incredibly hot. Plenty good to fuel many a session between Jayne and his hand.

 

The hard part's over, gradual but not too fast, and he's in-- then bearing his weight down and the rest of his cock just _slides_. Slides right into him, slick, wet, and hot-- and he can feel those satinysmooth insides _squeezing_ him. Yeah. Right there. This right here; smooth leg against his cheek when he tilts his head, hips pressed firmflat to Mal's own, feeling the bite of the ridges of the open zipper. Breath deep, heavy; looking into that reddened face, "...Whatcha need now, capt'n?" And he damn well knows the answer, but he's gonna _hear_ it first.

 

"_God_, yeah." _Fuck_, that's good. Rutting _Christ_. Jayne _listens_ to him, takes his orders like a true mercenary, and pushes into him, pushes into up to the _hilt_ of his cock--big as everything else of Jayne's is, and it fucking _burns_ like a son of a bitch, but Mal's too busy dealing with the heat flaring under his skin and the air most definitely _not_ as easy to breathe in as before. He's _panting_, hard and fast like he's about to pass out, and if _that_ happens he is _never_ forgiving himself for it. Swipe the back of a hand over his brow, writhing with delight around the thickness of Jayne _inside _him, full and hard and _hot_. Rutting _hot_. In every definition of the word. Stomach contracting as he tries to raise his head again, get in a good look at Jayne standing half naked and sweat-shiny, and tell him just what he wants to hear. No more teasing, no more waiting. "_Fuck_. _Me_."

 

He takes a leaf out of Zoe's book, thick with arousal and low-voiced, "Yes, sir." He can take it plenty rough; good. _Good_. Because there's a tremble in Jayne's touch that says '_holding back._' Jayne's shirt gets rucked up the flat of his stomach some, and Jayne thumbs around the slippery muscle where its stretched around the width of his cock before pulling his hand back, before pressing the back of that thigh flat to his chest and drawing his hips back, dull nails digging into the top of that silky-shaved thigh and he _snaps_ his hips forward; sound of skin making contact with skin. _This_ is what he's been waiting for. Wanted it the second that delicate blue dress, shimmer-slithered over the angles and curves of Mal's body.

 

Jayne. Fucking him, bearing him down--ideas that Mal finds _appealing_ for some fucked-up reason. Jayne _using_ him till he's coming; _God_, he likes the thought of that. For Jayne to come _in_ him, then maybe _tongue_ him all over again, taking in the taste of himself _in_ Mal--_wo de ma_, that's gotta be one of the raunchiest things to cross his mind, but the thought of it sends his hips into a particularly vicious swivel and his fist jerking frantically at his cock.

 

He's got the captain bent up on one of the shower sinks, head back against the tile, body curved and bent-double on itself, _pinned_. Mal couldn't go anywhere if he damn well wanted to-- Jayne's gonna make sure he doesn't _want_ to. _Ever_. Shifts. These hard little circular _grinds_ each time he's slammed full into the other, hard little jerks, as if he can somehow press _deeper_. Mal goes to stroking himself-- hardfast and with intent. Veins coming into contrast against redred skin, teeth gritted, and Jayne pulls back, adjusts just slightly and _thrusts_ back in. Yeah, right there-- that's the spot. That's the spot that lights him up, knocks him all manner of unfocused. Gonna make him _come_ this way. "Open your eyes, Mal... _look at me_; gonna see you when you come-- _look_, gorrammit," All twisted and strained, but coming out anyhow, Jayne's running with sweat, trembling with effort, keeping hold of Mal's body the whole time he's jerk-pushing, jerk-_thrusting_, _grinding_.

 

Mal's twisted up like an origami sculpture and feels about as strong as one--Jayne shifts inside him, goes deeper, does it _harder_, brute force at its best, and the head of his cock jams right up against--dearsweet_Lord_\--_that_. He's not even _close_ to coherent, but somehow he grunt-gasps out a full sentence. Eyes locked on Jayne's as best he can with his whole world getting _jarred_ each time the big bastard _thrusts_ into him. "You better kiss me right now or I swear to you I'm gonna scream too loud for either of us to explain."

 

Yeah. _Fuck_, yeah. _Lean_ into him, tight and hard; hand reaching out to grip into his captain's hair and _clench_ as he slants his head down and takes hold of that mouth. _Bites_ his way into it, tongue plundering and invading, licking out every little wet crease and nook it can find. Stroking the length of tongue over tongue. _Swallow_ whatever noise might come out, take it in, make it his own, _keep_ it-- just for him. Mal giving a scream _just for him_. God, that's... that's.. Jayne's breathing like an overworked engine, he's not reining it in anymore, hips involuntarily moving_surging_, over and over, thrusting more erratically, because he's about to come. About to spill over _inside_ Mal's body and gorram if that isn't the most ruttin' hot thing _ever_.

 

His ankles criss-cross, locking behind that thick neck, pulling Jayne on _top _of him even more and trying not to lose his breath completely when that tongue--tongue that's been _in _him; _lao tian ye_, when did he get this depraved?--goes forcing his teeth apart, fucking into his mouth the way he's fucking him with his cock. His hands are sweaty and shaky, trying to catch in Jayne's hair, mashing their mouths together to the point that the kiss is a mess of clicking teeth and twining tongues and he _is _crying out, he can feel his body trying to swallow the sound. _Clutching_ Jayne to him and his cock throbs between his own bare stomach and Jayne's clothed one and the next thing he knows he's spilling all over his navel and Jayne's shirt and _still_ twist-bucking around Jayne's cock, _craving_ the feel of it pushed up into him that way.

 

Mal is bent up, _tangled_ around him and against him and the captain _cries_ into his mouth, _shouts_ his pleasure right there for Jayne to swallow. Hot, wet rush against his stomach, strings of dampness, Mal _coming_. His body spasming and unwittingly _clenching_ over and over and Jayne is thrust-pushing for all he's worth while that sensation lasts and it's fasthard, erratic, but he keeps pistoning his hips into him even as he's spilling over, even as his orgasm rolls up on him and draws out a harsh groan_growl_ against Mal's lips. His hands are _bruisingly_ tight on that body, holding him close and against him as Jayne snaps his hips forwards and backwards those last few times, faltering, halting, then stalling out altogether. His hand to the counter, keep from leaning all the way atop Mal, knowing he probably wouldn't be quite able to _breathe_ if lay on him too heavily. Panting. Sweating. His clothes are sticky and itchy and his cock is slick-wet, growing soft, but still _in_ him.

 

"Dnnnnplllghtt," Mal orders. Or tries to. In his head, that was supposed to be _don't pull out yet_, but he's got hunch it didn't turn out sounding like that at all. He's still unwinding, letting the tension creep out of him, letting his brain settle back into his head from wherever it ran off to when it decided to let him get fucked by Jayne in the showers. Jayne, who's curved over him and buried inside him--Mal's muscles are still spasming around his cock, trying to take control of the situation. It aches, it feels amazing, it feels disgusting. With great care, Mal lets his arms slackly fall back down to his sides. Unhooks his ankles. _Whines_ exhaustedly into the oppressively humid air.

 

Mal makes that _sound_. Helpless and vulnerable sort of noise. Jayne likes it. Quite a bit. Run a hand up that damp-sticky middle of him, and, "Shhh..." Quietly gruff, in that way Jayne has even as he's easing back, sliding out of him wetly and easing his legs down. _Slow_, because he knows how they're gonna twinge as they're coming back down from being stretched like that. His hands up under Mal's ass-- he _lifts him_ up, straightens him into a sitting position, those watery limbs dangling, Mal's head resting against the condensation-smeared wall.

 

And Mal doesn't see how he's gonna be able to walk at _all _now, much less in women’s shoes. He says so. Or tries, anyway.

 

Jayne's hand curls up around the nape of Mal's neck, squeezing and kneading, head tilting to the side and Jayne takes hold of that mouth again. Nice and firm like, not as aggressive as the time before, more exploratory and slow. _Tasting_.

 

Mal just flops against him like a rag doll. Did this just happen? Really and truly? But his mouth opens artlessly, taking in the probing warmth of Jayne's tongue and giving back a moan in return, one hand coming up to laxly rest on Jayne's chest. Shirt still on. He needs a shower. They both do. He _laughs_.

 

There's a soft vibration against his lips, and Jayne pulls back, gives a quizzical look before he pulls back completely, reaches down to shrug out of his too-damp, too-soiled shirt. Tossing it to the floor. He steps back in between Mal's knees, and loops an arm around the other's exhausted form and pulls him close.

 

When Jayne steps back in and goes to _holding_ him, Mal's almost positive one of them's lost their mind. Most likely him. Not that it feels _bad_, having that walking pillar of flesh and muscle drawing him in, but it most definitely doesn't feel like something he'd generally allow Jayne to _do_. Come to think of it, that describes a lot of things that've happened today. "m gonna need to get dressed in a while," he slurs. Doesn't have to be out and about till well past nightfall, but he should be _ready_ before then.

 

Jayne's got his arm around him so he can slide him from the counter, try to ease him to his feet-- however, Mal doesn't seem quite steady enough to be standing just yet, so Jayne ends up standing there with his arm around the other. His nose in Mal's hair, that warm body _leaning_ into his. "Yup," Jayne mutters. "Shower. Sleep. Dress."

 

"All in a day's work." Jayne's nose is still pressing into his hair, a feeling that, along with the slickness along his ass and the clamminess of tiles under his bare feet, make him grimace. "If everything goes south, I'm not responsible. That'll all be on you."

 

"I take full responsibility for sexin' you, capt'n."

 

"Long as we're clear on that." _Wo de ma_, he just wants to fall into bed and maybe come out a week later. "'m not gonna lie, that was pretty...not bad." He feels _drunk_. Is this what sex with Jayne is _always_ like? Now he's curious.

 

Jayne's hand splayed on that bare, sweaty back-- "Pretty 'not bad' yourself." There's an edge of humor there.

 

"Makes a man do stupid things," he rambles on, not really aware what he's saying.

 

He somehow gets into one of the shower seats, feeling too damn dazed to actually stand, holding the showerhead and spraying himself down. Gotta make himself presentable. At least his legs are up to the task.


End file.
